THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE
Maybe I am.
They're saying it's anxiety. That I'm anxious.
Because this is new, apparently.
The, you know, anxiety.
It feels like my lungs are closing and my heart is racing every single time I begin to give myself room to think.
Everything is funny lately.
I don't understand how people can look at me directly. All I see is the still-windening expanses in front of me. I still don't understand why you look at me and feel concerned. I'm fine, for God's sake.
I mean, no, I'm not, I never have been, and have some sort of genetic condition and career hope that won't ever let me be, but for being insane and neurotic, I'm well. I don't feel well, but I will be.
The future is still there and whatever doors you say are closing on me, I don't believe you. Naive, maybe. I still believe in my conviction. I don't know any other way to move through space.
You know.
Sometimes, though. Sometimes, I get crazy. I get manic- And I wish there were another word for it. Besides manic. But it's like all the energy I have gets caught up between my chest and my throat, and it feels like screaming and crying. It's like a fever. You just sweat it out. And I get crazy, and I just have to sit and wait for it to end, because I don't know what I'd do if I tried to keep moving like that.
The hate I have for myself is so scary sometimes. It's hate that I don't understand and keep held down for so long it rears its head in ways I can't control. It's everywhere. It's everything I think about and it's all I see in everyone around me. I look around and keep it held close. Fine silver chains, made only in rage.
New York won't get out of my head. The idea of it. Of what would happen. That stupid irrational fear- As soon as I thought of it, I thought of what would happen. It was perfect. The story was perfect. It was perfect. And of course. Of course it would happen that way. She's there. And he- He would be there, obviously. If anywhere, that's where. But I don't think I could do it. That would just range on idiotic. 'I have do to do so I can prove that I am not insane and that, really, perfect humans and love and selflessness exist'. I have to go to be best friends with a girl I have never met and meet a man who does not exist.
I feel it in my bones, though.
I feel like there- There it's something it couldn't ever be here, and I don't understand it. Is that faith?n